The Crowning

the horses ride, they are
just shadows on the wall
sometimes this whole old house is liminal
sometimes i am allowed sight of a secret door
other times it's just a wall
the door... three hundred years gone

the glow of october
is exhale on ember
cold brings the dark
and in dark, we remember
ivory and ash
a dull brass latch
opened right before we woke, and -
a dream that would not pass

full moon crowns its bare head
out of the cloud's thighs
wind doula unspools the thread
through fog and song she'll guide